


Blood and Politics

by SiladhielLithvirax



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Armor Kink, Blood Play, Blood and Injury, D/s, Deepthroating, M/M, M/M/M, Making Injuries Worse for Fun and Profit, Multi, Obi-Wan Kenobi's Non-Existent Self Esteem, Plot to get to the Porn, Spitroasting, paper thin plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29582496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiladhielLithvirax/pseuds/SiladhielLithvirax
Summary: Kenobi has always been bad at taking care of himself, Cody told them that often enough.So now Fox and Wolffe are going to make himneedcare.
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox/CC-3636 | Wolffe/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 72





	Blood and Politics

**Author's Note:**

> For and from the lovely SubObi Server, and the even lovelier Sparky and others who egged me on.

  
  


It’s when Fox sees Kenobi gingerly wrap an arm around his own ribs while bowing to a Senator that he comms Wolffe and says he’s had enough. Wolffe responds quickly enough from where he was lounging in Fox’s office, and they set off after the _jare’la jetii_. 

They’d been watching Kenobi for a few weeks, at first wondering why the Jedi was haunting the halls of the Senate. Schmoozing and gossipping whenever he had a free moment between Council meetings and new orders to ship out. 

The absolute idiot of a man who hides his yawns with a careful redirect of attention, who hides his soreness with deliberate posture.

Then Fox is called to the Alderaanian Office some night, late, well past when most people are gone. The Senator and the General are there, pouring over a portable Holo-display with names and lines and all kinds of notes crossed out.

It clicks that night, after Fox is walking back to his office, those were the names of some of the bloc leaders. Some of the lesser known ones to be sure, but slightly powerful in their own right. And the questions they'd asked him, about exactly what he'd been taught by the Kaminoans, exactly what he'd understood of his placement in the Coruscant Guard, the hierarchy with the SIB and other agencies.

Kenobi is working on the Clone Bills. That fucking idiot, that fucking flirty, gossiping, menace has been haunting the halls peddling influence and favors and working the levers available to him all on behalf of the clones. 

They pull him into a conference room, burning with anger at themselves, at him, at this fucking building they're forced to be in full of uppity sapients who see them as nothing more than violent droids.

Wolffe with a hand around the back of his neck, forcing him to sit down in a chair, as Fox drags the chair into the open area, getting into Obi-Wan's face and putting his armoured knee _hard_ into Obi-Wan's thigh. 

And the General responds not how they're anticipating. They thought coming in strong, and forceful would allay some of the infamous _atinyc Jetii._ Instead, Kenobi just stares at them, eyes slightly brighter in the way of _vod_ on too many stims, mouth parted and breath coming heavy as his body tenses when Fox shifts his knee a bit higher.

They're confused, not getting quite the response they were hoping for, trading glances over Obi-Wan's shoulder as they push his robe out of the way to get at the ribs he'd obviously been protecting earlier. Wolffe hits on something though, when his hand slips from Obi-Wan's neck to loosen the chest armour, pressing into a cut that rests right on the edge of where the cuirass covers. The hitch in breathing is quite noticeable, and Wolffe moves again, running his hand across the open cut and smearing the blood just a bit into the pale skin of Obi-Wan's neck.

Fox leans back a little, both him and Wolffe fixated on Kenobi and his reactions, and the release of pressure on Kenobi's thigh leads to him twitching his hips when Fox's hands trail off his tabards toward his groin. 

They're clones though, and adapting to fit is in their genes, so Wolffe stares at Fox, and then looks down at the bruises and cuts marking Kenobi's neck/shoulder and presses down again, fingernails just catching the edge of the open wound.

Kenobi's gasp makes something in Fox and Wolffe ease a bit, makes something in them twist just a little bit darker, and that's when Fox leans into the General's face, hands quickly unlatching the armour, and wrenching the robes open even further, uncaring of the man's comfort any longer. They find where he clumsily used butterfly bandages to keep himself together rather than going to the medics to get stitches and bacta and digging fingers _in_.

"You're not okay, General, you're really not, Cody told us about your last advance, fucking _di'kut_. How many of your ribs are broken?" 

The Jedi is staring at them, mouth parted, breathing fast and unsure, eyes glassy as he tries to come up with some Negotiator response to a yes or no question. Fox doesn’t let him, leaning in and slapping the Jedi’s face right as he opens his mouth to answer. 

“Too many, General. These should have been looked at by a medic, and you know it.” Fox curls his lip at Kenobi, reaching down to rip his belt and obi off and toss them to the floor nearby. 

Wolffe gets a hand on Kenobi’s neck, digging in his fingers to get a tremulous gasp and whimper. It looks like Kenobi doesn't have any other words, just opens and closes his mouth as they wrench him around in the chair until his robes are bunched around him, his leggings showing quick interest as Fox reaches down once to cup him through the fabric. 

Wolffe gets impatient, wrenching the Jedi out of the chair as he spots some of the bruising low on his back, forcing Kenobi over to the table as Fox takes a step back to wait for his brother to manhandle Kenobi into place, face down on the table, his arms bent and fists scrabbling at the table until Wolffe's hand between his shoulder blades forces him down onto the table.

There they have the full tapestry, scars, bruises, scrapes and half-assed application of woefully inadequate bacta patches. 

Fox comes up next to Wolffe as they both stare at the man bent over the table, running their hands over his skin and occasionally pressing _in,_ chasing the whimpers, jolts, and gasps from the _jare’la di’kut._

Wolffe growls when Kenobi tries to get his hands steady under him, but Fox is definitely the talker of the two, barking out a sharp no that has Kenobi freeze stock still. Wolffe takes the moment to rip off the inadequate dressings, uncaring of the Jedi’s discomfort. They're already not the right level of bacta for the level of injury, and Wolffe is determined to show the General that he _needs_ the care, he _needs_ to let them care for him.

He's doing so much for them, his numbers are always some of the best, Fox knows, Fox keeps track, and now, this Clone Rights thing? Even when he's this banged up and right off the heels of a terrible month of non-stop battles? They need to show him he deserves care, and if the only way to do that is to incapacitate, then so be it.

\--

Obi-Wan knows his injuries aren't terrible this time, just bruising and scratches and open skin on top of the mottled old scars and curious ink on his left shoulder blade. That doesn't stop Fox and Wolffe though, both of them running their hands over the newly exposed areas, pressing in and scratching lightly, rubbing along his sides as they talk to each other over his back. 

Obi-Wan _likes_ the bruises and aches he gets from avoiding the medic's treatments, they ground him; a point of pressure and bright pain in the chaos and smoke and uncertainty of his everyday life. 

It's the guilt, it's always the guilt, why should Obi-Wan be able to get better when so many of their brothers can't anymore? When so many of their brothers never got the care Obi-Wan is entitled to as a _Jedi_ , as a _General_.

"Look at this Wolffe, di'kut didn't even cover the whole scratch with his patch, just wasting the resource there," Fox says as he rips off one of the few patches Obi-Wan had allowed himself to use. 

"Aww Fox, you know the General wouldn't dare waste resources, he just needed someone else to reach it, which is exactly what we're here for, right General?" 

Kenobi is still panting, clenching and unclenching hands on the smooth surface of the table. It takes a minute for him to scrape enough of his mind together from where it's been scattered by pain and fog, 

"Wh-What are you-doing?" finally comes out tremulously, and Wolffe and Fox stop for a moment, moving their hands to keep restraining the Jedi under them, firm and unyielding. 

Fox takes the initiative again, leaning almost fully over the Jedi, nuzzling at the back of his neck before biting hard at the knob of his spine, forcing a gasp out of Obi-Wan and a scrape of his still booted foot against the floor when he almost loses stability. Fox turns his face, speaking almost directly into Obi-Wan’s skin, 

"Oh General, we're gonna do whatever we want with you, isn't that right Wolffe?" 

"Oh, definitely Fox, seems obvious the General can't be trusted to do shit about his own body, so obviously we get to use it now."

Obi-Wan doesn't know what to say to that, there's not much he'd ever deny the vode, they have so little to begin with, and they're right, he is wasting resources for other brothers. 

That's about the extent of his thoughts before they go skittering away as Fox scrapes a nail across one of the long cuts running from just under his tattoo to the bottom of his rib cage on the other side. Obi-Wan can feel it split open again, the sharp sting and radiating burn coupled with the heavy hand pressing his chest into the table enough to scramble his mind.

Obi-Wan is biting back the whines trying to escape his throat, panting against the smooth tabletop, just so _lost_. 

A hand winds its way into his hair, lightly scratching and directing him to meet Wolffe’s eye,   
  
“Hey, it’s okay, Obi-Wan, it’s alright, we’re just gonna make sure you get what you need alright?”   
  
Obi-Wan trembles and manages a slight nod even with the fingers threaded through his hair. The smile that breaks out across Wolffe’s face is different this time, it makes him want to hide, and turn away, but there’s a table under his body, and Fox is still hovering over his back.   
  
Fox continues to mouth at his back. He had moved down to give Wolffe room but Obi-Wan knows the skin of his shoulder blades, what’s not already covered in bruises and scrapes, will be red and raw from the nips and worrying of Fox’s teeth. 

Wolffe moves over to trace along a burn across his bicep, a blaster bolt had managed to find it’s way just past his pauldron, missing him, but leaving the energy burn marking his skin. 

Something low in Obi-Wan’s gut goes tight as Wolffe runs his rough, blaster callused fingers against the raw skin. And then he wraps his hand fully around his arm and drags him across the table, dislodging Fox and shoving chairs out of the way till he pulls Obi-Wan to the narrower end of the table.   
  


Wolffe’s hands were suddenly grasped tight at his waist and around his arm, dragging him and arranging him so his head was hanging off the opposite side. Obi-Wan felt flushed all over. He was just forced into place, as if his choices didn’t even matter. Fox and Wolffe could just _make_ him go wherever they wanted, and _do_ whatever they wanted with him.   
  
“Ah, No-Yeah, there we go.” was the only input from Fox before he came around the other side of the table where Obi-Wan’s head was resting on the edge. 

  
“Look at that, Wolffe, exactly where we want him now.” Fox crouched down in front of him and grabbed his hair to pull his head upright, eyes flashing before Obi-Wan’s view was filled with red-painted plastoid and Fox’s teeth latched onto his neck.   
  
_Fuck_ , the suction and the biting and gods, it’d be visible in his tunics up that high on his neck, he wouldn’t be able to-   
  


Hands running along his lower back derail his thoughts yet again, not at all helped by Wolffe scratching nails and pressing down into the bruises at the edge of his leggings.   
  
Then abruptly his leggings are pulled down, bunched around his knees and he’s exposed in the _Senate Conference Room_ , and there are teeth in his neck and a durasteel grip on his hip as another hand slides up towards his ribs and clenches.   
  
Pain radiates out from his side, as his breath hitches on a scream, and his hips twitch in Wolffe’s grip, his body tensing at the onslaught of touching, and pain, and restraints, and just _everything_ .   
  


“Poor General, we can’t help you unless you let us, isn’t that right?” Wolffe says from where he’s standing behind him.   
  
Fox bites down again- _Force, did he break skin?_ -before levering himself up, his hand pulling tight in Obi-Wan’s hair and wrenching his face to the side so he’s forced to stare up at Fox’s leering grin,   
  
“I don’t think the General is really in any state to be effective right now, Wolffe, Looks like he needs a hard reset, if you get what I mean.”   
  
Wolffe laughs, “Fox, you have the best ideas.” and his hand on Obi-Wan’s ribs turns, nails digging in edgewise as they move down his back towards his opposite hip, a line of fire Obi-Wan is helpless to ignore as it stokes the tightness in his gut.   
  


Fox is in front of him, one hand clenched in his hair and the other sliding across his face, tracing his mouth with a thumb running across his lips.   
  
“We’re going to fuck you until you can’t speak anymore, got it General?”   
  
Obi-Wan’s breathing speeds up as he sees the determination in Fox’s eyes, panting against the thumb on his lips, and Fox takes the initiative in dragging his thumb into Obi-Wan’s mouth. 

“Because if you can’t speak, then you can’t run around the Senate like a _jare’la di’kut_ with fresh injuries. _”_   
  
Obi-Wan’s tongue swirls a bit at Fox’s thumb and the way Fox smiles is not very nice and his heartbeat speeds up, they’re holding him and they’re just _doing_ things and there’s still that ache from where his ribs are pressed to the table and his hair is being pulled against his scalp. 

Wolffe has been gripping his hips and running his hands along his flanks as he can, but the hands shift inwards a little bit, grabbing at his ass cheeks and hauling him forward onto the table a little bit more.   
  
The edge digs into his upper thighs and his cock is pressed between the table and his stomach, the smooth surface of the table doing nothing to abate his desire for friction. Wolffe is apparently done playing nice as a cool liquid is dripped down the cleft of his ass and a finger starts rubbing incessantly at his hole.   
  
The jolting he does at the sharp temperature of the lube _(Where did they get lube, did they have it? And when did they grab it?)_ makes Wolffe chuckle and lean forward over him a bit more, his foot kicking harshly at Obi-Wan’s shins to spread them outwards.   
  


“General, we’re going to wreck you. It’s going to be very fun and maybe you’ll realize you need some care after we’re done, wouldn’t want to be too soft with such a _strong general_ .”   
  
The finger presses in and it’s so much and Fox’s thumb is still in his mouth and then one becomes two and Fox’s thumb pulls his mouth down and open and _gods_ when did he get his ven’cabur off?   
  


Fox presses into his mouth and Wolffe’s fingers are fucking into his ass and the stretch is too fast and it burns and the hand on his hip is gripping _hard_ .   
  
Obi-Wan didn’t know it could be like this. He feels unmoored. There are two men who he knows, who he trusts, who are hurting him and it feels different. They’re just using him uncaring of what he wants and it’s too much and not enough and just so good. 

He chokes a bit as Fox pushes relentlessly down his throat, eyes watering and breath trapped in his chest as the Commander just pops into his throat. Wolffe pulls his fingers out and slaps him on the ass, just reaching up to rake his fingers down his back, hard, as he says,

“That’s good enough, right? Don’t want to go too soft for the General here.” 

Then Fox pulls back until just the head of his cock is in Obi-Wan’s mouth, and Wolffe is pushing in and it’s so _much_ and it’s so _good_ , and two fingers wasn’t enough but the stretch burns to match the burning low in his gut. 

Wolffe’s hand shifts from pressing on his back to another tight grip on the ribs that were still aching from his earlier injuries. Fox took the opportunity to start pushing into his mouth again, just hitting the back of his throat as Obi-Wan choked and cried and tried so hard to be good for them.  
  


The pressure of the table along his front, trapping his cock against the smooth surface and his stomach was not enough. Fox thrust forward again, sending his thoughts skittering away as he felt the pressure of Wolffe thrusting in him as well. Fox leaned down, running the hand that was holding his chin down to his throat, squeezing with the barest of pressure and making sure his nails caught against the marks he’d left there earlier.   
  
His eyes fell closed as he tried to get control over his breathing and the unrelenting pleasure and pain swirling through his body. He tried desperately to relax, to give in and feel the sensations flooding his mind.   
  
Fox switched the hand still gripping in his hair to petting, and it was nice, and it was there, and it was a thread that let Obi-Wan finally relax and lay there and take it. 

“There we go General, fuck, that’s it, take it.” Wolffe grits out from behind him as the clone continues thrusting, easier now that Obi-Wan is pliant in their hold.   
  
Fox is breathing heavily above him, thrusting deep into his throat and holding there as the thrusting from Wolffe jolts him up and down along the end of the table they’ve commandeered.   
  
“What do you think Wolffe, the slut has finally listened to us, do you think he’s been good so far?”   
  
At some unseen signal from Wolffe, Fox smirks and pulls back from Obi-Wan's mouth, stroking himself while he grips at Obi-Wan's hair and angles his head just a bit higher. His scalp hurts as he's jolted against the table from Wolffe but held securely where Fox wants him.

Fox comes with a groan, spilling all across Obi-Wan’s parted mouth and beard.   
  
Wolffe swears and fucks in faster, moving his hands to Obi-Wan’s hips and pulling him further back, dragging Obi-Wan’s cock and Obi-Wan’s mind goes blank, the swirling emotions in his head leaving him floaty as he gasps with the taste of Fox in his mouth.   
  
It’s Fox crouching down in front of him, swiping up some of the cum from his face and forcing it down his still abused throat that makes him finally tumble over the edge, his hands scrabbling and knees going weak as he yells around Fox’s fingers in his mouth.   
  


Wolffe groans obscenely as well, thrusting through Obi-Wan’s orgasm, riding out his own orgasm as warm fluid spreads inside the Jedi still pressed down to the table.   
  
Obi-Wan comes to moments later, Fox whispering into his face, his fingers petting through his cum stained beard Wolffe rubs along his flanks and across his back, so different from the hard scratching and gouging of before.   
  
Finally Fox’s words seemed to penetrate the haze, the whispers gaining clarity through Obi-Wan’s muddled thoughts.   
  
“There we go General, you were so good, you took it just like we wanted, there you are” 

  
Wolffe leans over his back, keeping the steady pressure on his sides, the ache of his injuries still singing through his blood as the feel of plastoid armour was pressed against his back.   
  
Wolffe joins in on the words Fox kept muttering, gruff and throat still sounding just a bit punched out,   
  
“Hey there Kenobi, look at you, we gotta get you cleaned up, huh?”   
  
“O-Obi-Wan.” He manages to whisper out from his wrecked throat, calling him Kenobi, General, at this point seemed to twinge something deep in his chest. 

  
Fox levers himself up again, keeping one of his hands running through Obi-Wan’s hair, and Obi-Wan tilts his head to follow the movement and nuzzle into warm skin. It’s nice. He’d never thought that they’d be nice. 

They were both there are they were taking care of him now, soothing him almost- 

He didn't deserve nice, he deserved all of their condemnation, all of their hatred, he couldn't do enough, he couldn't be clever enough, strong enough to save their brothers in the field, so why would they be nice to him now? He didn't do enough, he did the bare minimum these wonderful, beautiful men were owed, getting them the bare rights awarded to anyone- 

-Wolffe was petting him and whispering softly, and Fox had grabbed a cloth from somewhere and was cleaning his face, and it was just nice.

Maybe he could have this, maybe he could have them, maybe they were right and he could have people who cared, who understood that he wasn’t perfect and didn’t expect him to be. He was doing everything he possibly could, trading favors and influence, prostrating himself in front of abhorrent Senators and bureaucrats to get whatever concession he could for them.

Part of Obi-Wan lit up and settled, at the knowledge these two Commanders, these two brilliant men would understand. 

**Author's Note:**

> jare’la - foolish/reckless  
> ven'cabur - codpiece  
> vod - sibling  
> vode - siblings  
> di'kut - idiot  
> atinyc - stubborn  
> jetii - Jedi


End file.
